


The Wheels of the Bus Go Round and Round

by Osmee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osmee/pseuds/Osmee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slice of life look at what the SHIELD characters get up to when they're not in episodes. Will update as more vignettes come to mind.</p>
<p>First slice takes place after the tag in 1x09, though before 1x10. Fitz has a non-scientific epiphany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wheels of the Bus Go Round and Round

“Jemma!” Fitz burst into the lab bay, arms waving in midair. “I’ve finally figured it out. I’ve figured out who pranked me!”

Putting down the flask of Extremis-spiked cardiomyocytes she was culturing before she could almost spill it again, Jemma turned and gave him her full attention.

“This whole time, I’ve been looking at it the wrong way. As much as it pains me to admit it, my underlying assumption was flawed!”

For some reason, he was holding his toothbrush. Jemma thought it wise to keep her distance, but at least he had spat into the sink before rushing over. Otherwise, she was sure there would have been flecks of toothpaste all over her face. “Start from the beginning,” Jemma sighed.

“Right. So, while brushing my teeth, I was rereading my favorite book of all time, as I often do. You know my favorite book, yeah?”

Jemma rolled her eyes. Of course she knew. She had known since they’d met at a fancy dress party during Academy orientation. When she had remarked that he’d been very thorough in assembling his get-up, from the Inverness cape and the deerstalker cap to the carved wooden pipe dangling from his lip, he’d retorted that the great Sherlock Holmes, his childhood hero, deserved nothing less.

“So I’ve been trying to deduce who pranked me with shaving cream. At first, I thought it was Sky, which makes total sense, because she had motive.”

“Revenge,” Jemma whispered, mock seriously.

“Yes, but she had an alibi. Then I thought, Ward, because he’d want in on our young people shenanigans, but he didn’t want to ruin his Level 7 reputation.” Fitz wrinkled his nose. “Or maybe Coulson.”

“Let me guess, they alibied out as well.” Raising an eyebrow, Jemma crossed her arms. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“Oh, come now,” snorted Fitz, giving her a look. “So like I said, I was rereading _Sign of Four_ when it came to me. If you’ve eliminated the impossible—“

“--whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” she replied, automatically. Fitz had quoted the famous adage often enough.

She leaned closer. “You don’t think?”

“Yes,” Fitz whispered, nodding, “and I’m going to get her back!”

* * *

 

To Fitz’s surprise, breaking into Melinda May’s bunk was far easier than he had anticipated. Then again, The Cavalry probably didn’t invest in locks or security systems because anyone with half a brain would have known better than to dare intrude upon her personal space.

Fitz had more brains than most, but here he was, a canister of shaving cream in his back pocket. May was flying the plane, Coulson was in his office, and Ward was training in the bay. Technically, he, Simmons and Skye were in the middle of a Gilmore Girls marathon. He had slipped out on the pretense of popping more popcorn, and had exactly two minutes and thirty seconds to spare. If anyone should head his way, Simmons would text him from her vantage point and even buy him enough time to extricate himself if need be.

But she had refused to hear what he had in mind once he accessed Agent May’s bunk, claiming she didn’t want to be guilty by association. Too bad, because he had concoted a brilliant plan. Low tech, but an elegant response to the old shaving cream in the eye trick. Not only would it signal to Agent May that he knew whodunit, but that he had managed to covertly infiltrate her room. The best part was, she would know, but never have any proof linking the prank to him.

Fitz fished into his shirt pocket for the device, a miniature programmable alarm clock set for four thirty in the morning, and looked for a place to hide it. Like the rest of them, Agent May had a standard issue bunk, but for some irrational reason, he’d imaged her room to be dark and threatening, like a cross between Batman’s cave and the headmaster’s office. He was a little disappointed at how normal the décor was. She even owned a worn flowery quilt and a pair of fluffy pink slippers.

Aside from a few books, a cd of the Bach Cello Suites, and a chipped ceramic Snoopy mug, the hutch was too empty to conceal anything. But the classical music was a good sign. It meant Agent May would probably recognize the von Suppé piece he’d programmed the alarm clock to play. It was a cleverly appropriate choice, the _Light Cavalry Overture_.

Turning his attention to the bed stand, Fitz considered the small leather bound notebook, the bottle of lavender scented moisturizer, and to his surprise, one of those Christmas photo cards lying on top. It looked like a family photo, although he didn’t recognize anyone in the picture. Without thinking, he picked it up. They were all sporting goofy winter hats and laughing into the camera. On the back was a message scrawled in messy red crayon.

Feeling awkward, Fitz set the card back down and reminded himself of the task at hand. “Right. Where to stash.”

Scanning the room again, he decided his best option was inside the Snoopy mug. For his finishing touch, he squirted a generous portion of shaving cream into the toes of May’s slippers.

* * *

 

Fitz sidled back on to the couch, a big tub of buttery goodness in his hand. “Mission accomplished,” he gloated, as he passed the popcorn around.

“Took you long enough,” said Skye, digging her fist deep into the bowl.

Simmons didn't say anything, but while Skye moved popcorn from her palm to her mouth, intently focused on the show, Simmons shot him a pointed look. Meeting his best friend's eyes, he grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

He could already hear the trumpet fanfare in his head. Perhaps he was being foolhardy, but he couldn’t wait to see Agent May’s reaction tomorrow morning.


End file.
